Patient Zero
by L.D. Eddy
Summary: Scarecrow embarks on an ambitious project to create a new version of his deadly drug. He finds his inspiration in the most toxin resistant test subject he's ever encountered. UltraToxin is about to be born.
1. Chapter 1

A/N from McStaken: Welcome to my nightmare! No, literally this started out as a nightmare (Thank you Arkham Knight Scarecrow) and then it became…. This. Shameless self-insert. Shameless. With a twist. I feel sorry for Sarah Booth because we tend to abuse our precious characters. Like a lot. So welcome to Patient Zero - a love letter of awfulness to Jonathan Crane. Thanks for the nightmares, spooky. Happy Halloween.

A/N from L.D.: So McStaken actually wrote most/all of this and I helped edit it. Normal people would think to post it on McStaken's account, buuut normal people also have self control and the ability to update on a schedule and not update because they're so many chapters ahead and just really *really* want to share it with people. *eyes McStaken*. So that's why it's being posted on my account. Especially because she likes to sneak post while I'm sleeping or while I'm working because time zone differences and I can't help control her impulses. So I hope you enjoy, and don't worry, all reviews will be forwarded to McStaken so if you have any specific questions, they will definitely be answered. Enjoy and have a Happy Halloween! Hopefully yours is gonna go better than our main character's.

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Chapter 1

Gotham. Autumn.

Gotham's weather was unpredictable at best. There was no standard adjustment period between summer and autumn. It would be pleasantly warm one day and then a cold snap would drop the city's temperatures into almost winter conditions the next. With the cold snap came winter's first bite - flu. This year's wasn't just any old flu, it was nasty and virulent - had struck at least 75% of the city's citizenry already. Elderly people were dying from the assault on their bodies and the city's news was gripped with the Great Flu Epidemic statistics and predictions. Anchors talked about doctors and the medical system being under strain from the needless appointments - sufferers were advised to rest and avoid contact with anyone who had long term medical problems or were elderly. Those as yet unaffected by the epidemic were urged - get your flu-jab now.

Sarah Booth. Age 25. 149 Rosemount Ave. West Gotham. Hair brown, eyes brown. Five foot six, 125 pounds soaking wet, and - here for her flu-jab. She worked in retail - had seen a lot of sick people and a lot of sick co-workers. This year's flu had, thankfully, passed her by for now - but she wasn't about to coast on that luck. She couldn't afford to take time off work because Bill or Susan had given her their germs.

The pharmacy she'd chosen on her lunch-break looked eerily deserted. One of those old mom-and-pop pharmacies with wooden shelves and dank, dark aisles of products. The cough and cold aisle - she noticed - had been ransacked. No Lemsip on display, no cough drops. It was barren and empty - like the rest of the store. Well, not quite empty. The pharmacist was still here.

He appeared out of one of the offices like a wraith - skinny as a rake but with a head of unruly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. 'Finished with your forms?' His voice was lilting - definitely not born and bred Gothamite, there was still a little southern accent in it - but she liked it. It was a calming voice.

'Yes.' She handed the forms back and glanced around uneasily in the silence. There wasn't even a cashier standing by the till. 'Where is everyone?'

'Hm, struck down by that flu or on their lunch-break.' The pharmacist dismissed easily. 'But I'm still here. We can do this now, if you want, or we can make an appointment.' He added archly.

'Now - if you have time.' She fidgeted nervously. No time to prepare for the needle - Sarah did not particularly like needles - or what came after. The blood.

The pharmacist glanced around them and smiled strangely. 'I think we have time. Follow me.'

He took the forms with him into a partitioned section of the store and pointed her to the seat closest to the desk as he scanned the forms. 'Before we begin -' His glasses flashed as he glanced up at her. 'I have to ask, are you allergic to anything? Eggs, shellfish, peanuts?'

'No,' she replied and watched him pull a notebook towards him to scribble her answer into it. Was this standard practice?

'Your medical history is sparing.' He noted. 'Though I don't see any major problems - I must tell you, Ms Booth that we're trialling a new drug this winter. The side effects can… vary. I'd like you to tell me whatever you feel after the needle.'

Needle. She nodded and he scribbled something down into his pad before he reached into a desk drawer and - She'd expected a small and none too intimidating needle. This was not small. It was filled with a watery yellow substance. Sarah was sure she'd gone white at the sight of it. He noticed her discomfort and chuckled. 'Not a fan of getting shots?'

'N-no.' She answered and looked away - anywhere but at the needle.

He seemed amused by her reluctance. 'Don't worry - everyone hates taking their medicine. It's just a little prick. We'll do it on three.' He promised. 'One-'

She'd expected the needle at two but she felt the pain just after he'd finished saying one. She felt it slide into her vein and - for some reason - the jab felt cold.

'Now,' He said as the metal slid out. 'What do you see?'

She looked at him confused for a second and then down at her arm. It was coated in blood. Blood trickled steadily from the injection site and down her arm - it dripped off her fingers and she gave a ragged gasp of surprise. It did not go unnoticed by the pharmacist.

'What?' He demanded. 'What are you seeing?!'

She tried to wipe the blood away, gripped her shoulder with her good arm to stem the bleeding but it seeped through her fingers relentlessly. She could feel the hysteria building. 'I'm bleeding - it won't stop bleeding! There's so much blood!' She gasped. Could taste the metal in the air as blood pooled in her lap and it still kept bleeding. 'Help me!' She begged.

The pharmacist was unmoved by her plea as he scribbled in the notepad again. 'Heamophobia. Interesting.'

'You need to-' She looked back down at her arm - it was fine. No metallic taste in the air - no blood on her fingers or her clothes. Her arm looked fine. 'What? Where did-?'

His head snapped up at her confusion, his glasses flashed alarmingly. 'What is it?'

There was nothing there but the raised welt where she'd taken the needle. 'I -' She blinked. 'I was bleeding, and now I'm not - it doesn't look like I ever was. What was in that flu-jab?!' She demanded.

'What?!' He snapped - he seemed angry now. 'I gave you a full dose-'

There was a crash from the back of the store. A door being kicked in. A dark and angrier voice yelled 'CRANE!' and it was getting closer.

Sarah's head snapped to the pharmacist as he pulled a burlap mask from his pocket and - oh god it was Scarecrow. She hadn't realised until she'd seen the mask but the man in the white labcoat - it was Scarecrow. He'd escaped from Arkham weeks ago. There had been a manhunt for him ever since.

'Why doesn't my serum work on you?' He turned and demanded under that terrifying mask. He was reaching out to grab her - oh god she didn't want to die screaming! - as he snarled 'How do you have immunity? Tell me!'

'I - I don't-' She spluttered. The door broke under a forceful boot, a Batarang snapped against his outstretched hand and Crane backed away from her as she ducked and cringed away from the blur that ran through the door and straight for the other man.

There was a click and a hiss as they tussled and then - two hands grabbed her and hauled her up - she screamed, thinking it was Scarecrow but as the dust and mayhem and Fear Toxin settled she realised it was Batman.

Scarecrow was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Here we go! Another Tuesday, another chapter. Please don't forget to review if you enjoy!**_

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Chapter 2

Six hours.

Six hours in the hospital and a referral for counselling. After what she'd seen the police removing from the back room of the pharmacy Sarah may have just taken them up on that offer. Crane had told her that the other people had been "Struck down by that flu or on their lunch-break" - they'd all been slowly dying in the basement of the pharmacy. All of them. She shuddered at the thought. There had been so much blood - it would invade her dreams tonight. She doubted she would sleep anyway.

Standard practice for a toxin victim was to at least be observed overnight - with some pretty heavy-duty restraints - but the doctors at the hospital had been confused by her completely stable vitals and complete lack of losing her mind. After six hours they really had no reason to keep her. They were completely baffled by her lack of reaction. They had assumed - like she had - that she'd been injected with toxin and not the standard flu vaccine and - presumably - she should have lost her mind minutes after it had entered her blood-stream but she felt fine. A little dizzy, a little headache from the ordeal - but nothing that wouldn't be fixed with rest and over-the-counter meds.

They'd let her out because most of the doctors were needed for his other victims. The earlier ones. The screaming had been…godawful.

She was going to have a hot bath and call in all her holidays from work at once and then just curl up and forget about what had happened -

Her front door opened into darkness. Of course, she hadn't been home to turn the lights on. Her fingers found the switch and flicked it up. Light erupted in the living room as she stepped in and closed the door. She'd barely taken two steps before a needle-gloved hand wrapped around her neck from behind and that soft not-quite-Gotham voice said 'Hello, Sarah. We never did get to finish our appointment.'

Ohgodno-

He dragged her further into the living room and pushed her into one of her squashy armchairs. He snarled lowly 'Stay.' Like she was some kind of dog.

She shrank away from the needle-tipped finger he pointed at her. Crane turned and took a seat on the chair opposite. They were separated only by the coffee-table. She drew her legs up to protect her face as he reached up and pulled the mask off. He set it on the table - beside the pad he had at the pharmacy - and pulled the wire-rimmed glasses she'd noticed from his pocket.

'How did you find me?' She demanded.

'Your form, Ms Booth. Don't you remember writing your address on it?'

The form he had her fill out. She'd given it to him.

'So,' He picked up the pad and settled back. The glove wrapped around the fabric of her chair as the pad and a pen were balanced on his knee. 'Where were we?'

Therapy was now in session.

She stared at him fearfully, every few seconds her eyes drifted to the glove and snapped back to him. He was drumming it steadily on the old fabric in thought.

'Have you had any more side-effects?' The way he said side-effects made her shiver. He relished the word, as though it were much more pleasant than what he truly meant.

She stared at him - wide-eyed. Surely someone would realise he was here - wouldn't they? Someone - anyone. Batman, even. The needle-tipped glove was tapping faster now.

'Saaaarrrah. You really should volunteer this information.' He warned her darkly. 'You wouldn't like my methods of coercion.'

Was he threatening to torture her? Kill her? Maybe if she kept him talking - maybe one of the neighbours would think something was wrong - maybe she would get a chance to escape. 'The - the hospital said my vitals were normal. There was nothing wrong with me.' She supplied. 'I … I have a headache?' She added, determined to find something to appease him.

Crane scribbled something down in his pad unhappily. 'A headache.' He agreed condescendingly. 'Normal, my victims never register as normal.' he sneered to himself.

'I saw what you did to the others.' She blurted. She really hoped to distract him from her. 'The ones in the back room - the lucky ones were dead. You're a monster.' That hadn't meant to slip out. She didn't want to antagonise him right now.

He smirked, ever so slightly and looked up at her ashen face. 'My work leaves casualties. That is what they said about Josef Mengele.' He straightened up to look directly at her as he said 'The luckiest of all would be you, wouldn't it, Sarah?'

No, no, no. Not on her. Don't focus on her. But she couldn't help the whisper that escaped. 'Because I didn't die?'

'Because you didn't react!' He snapped. 'My toxin is engineered to work on every living thing capable of feeling fear - and you do feel fear, Ms Booth, I saw it for myself. Yet you're able to mitigate my toxin's effects within seconds of being exposed.'

This upset him. She knew it did. She could read it in his body language. He was defensive and angry because for some reason she had no clue about - she'd not reacted accordingly. 'Are you here to finish the job?'

He looked surprised for a second and then a wheezing laugh. It morphed into a cackle the longer she watched him. 'Finish the job? No, Sarah. That would be too easy.' He promised with a dark little smile.

'Why are you here, then?' She begged.

'Because you're an anomaly.' He replied coldly and scribbled something else into his notepad. 'I hate anomalies.'

She glanced towards the front door. The latch was off - it hadn't closed properly. Thirty seconds at top speed. She could run for it now - scream as loudly as possible to get help and then - and then expose the rest of the people in the apartment building to Scarecrow. But someone would call the police - someone would call for help. It was a risk, but the only option right now.

'Your parents - normal, are they?' Crane asked and she snapped back to keeping him talking - just a little longer.

'I don't understand how that has-' She began but stiffened in her chair as he leaned forward and a needle-tipped finger pointed at her.

'You don't need to understand the question to answer the question, Ms Booth. Do we need to have that talk about coercion, now?' He asked with a dangerous tone.

'N-no. Normal childhood. Normal parents.' She choked.

'And where are they now?' He sighed boredly.

'Dead. Cancer and a car crash.'

He looked up at her. 'My deepest condolences. No more family? No? Have you been tested for the meta-gene at all?'

'No.' She watched him scribble that information down.

'Possible, then.' He mused to himself. 'Now. Tell me about your haemophobia.'

'What's-'

He sat back with a knowing glint in his eye. 'Fear of blood, Ms Booth. Despite how little of a reaction you had to my toxin, You screamed about your arm being covered in blood.' His glasses flashed. 'Past traumatic event?'

He couldn't know. He can't know. He was fishing but - that look in his eye said he knew exactly why, he wanted her to tell him. There were words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't let them out.

'Do I have to threaten you again, Ms Booth?' He sighed heavily. The pen had stopped dancing across the page. 'What traumatic event made you fear blood?'

She couldn't answer him - wouldn't answer him. Whatever he did to her. Whatever he thought he could do to get her to talk. She wasn't going to tell him about that.

'I see you've chosen to be stubborn. Very well.' Crane replied evenly. The gloved hand reached around her squashy chair and dropped something on the table next to his mask. A large ziploc bag.

She stopped breathing when she saw it. Thought she'd thrown it out last year - tried to forget all about it but -

'A hospital-stay. Dated last year.' Crane emphasised needlessly - he had been through her home. Violated her privacy and pulled skeletons from her closet. The old medication they'd had her on to deal with the pain - the clotting agent they'd made her take to stop the bleeding - so much bleeding. 'What is this, I wonder?' He asked casually.

She looked up into his eyes - and she knew that he knew exactly what it had been for. He knew the details - he had read her forms.

'A miscarriage.' He mused as the needle glove spread out the content of the bag. 'Is that where your phobia began, Ms Booth? Or did it simply exacerbate it?'

She stared at him, watching his smug face as he revelled in the fear he was causing - the fear of remembering.

'Sarah, answer the question.'

No. Not that. Not now, not ever. She bolted over the arm of her chair and ran - towards the front door. She took her chance with screaming for help. Behind her, she heard Crane give chase with a snarl. She was almost there, arm outstretched for the doorknob when he tackled her to the floor. For man so skinny - a ragdoll - he was strong. The glove-free hand wrapped itself in her hair and slammed her head off the floor not once, but twice - hard.

Her head swam. The headache threatened to overwhelm her - but she wasn't going to give in so easy. She fought as blood trickled down her face from a cut to her forehead. He was trying to do something, force her head to the side and expose her neck.

Despite it all, she struggled and screamed until he successfully wrenched her head and kept it there long enough for him to plunge a needle into her vein.

For a second, she thought it was more toxin. What good would it do? She had demonstrated that she was - at least partially - immune to his drug. Her limbs began to go heavy and numb and she realised with horror he hadn't injected her with toxin - it was tranquilizer.

'Cares you know not, therefore sleep, While over you a watch I'll keep, Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby.'

The world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

She felt cold.

Her fingers were tingling and her legs were wrapped with chill. Sarah Booth awoke in darkness and she was almost thankful about that because her head was throbbing in pain.

She tried to move and quickly realised that her arms and legs were strapped down to the bed she was currently straps felt good and sturdy as they pressed into her.

She thought - for a second - she was alone but a voice in the darkness made her gasp in shock. Not alone - definitely not alone in the dark. Somehow, that was worse.

'Journal entry, September 29th. Patient name - Sarah Booth. Age 25. No known long-term medical conditions. Miscarriage in the past year. A surprising resistance to my toxin's effects.'

Who was that? She recognised the lilting voice and - Oh god it was Scarecrow. She remembered. He'd broken into her house and - Where was she?! This certainly wasn't home. The headache suddenly made sense but for the love of god, where was she?!

Crane continued his dictation without even addressing her. He must know she was awake. 'I have to wonder if this is the reason that Batman has been able to mitigate my toxin for these last few years. It isn't the first time that I've suspected as such. The reactions both seem on the surface to match - an initial and strong reaction to the presence of the toxin and then I see nothing. No reaction. Repeated doses react similarly. I intend to rectify this.'

What was he saying? Intend to rectify it - how?! She threw her weight against one side of the gurney - hoping perhaps to stretch the restraints enough for her to slip a hand through - or break it entirely - but they were strong and were leaving painful welts in her skin. The bed simply wouldn't tip over.

'I intend to start a new project - UltraToxin - and my design will give me a much more normal reaction from those who are immune to the effects of my regular batches. Booth is Patient Zero. My baseline patient. I will continue to test past batches to find a compound that reacts better to this type of mind and improve upon it.'

C'mon. Give out - give - give!

She paused when she heard the recorder being put down nearby. Long, slender and cold fingers gripped her face and turned it to look up as the light was finally turned on. It hurt. 'Welcome back, Sarah.' Crane greeted. 'How is your headache?'

She whimpered.

'Don't cry.' Crane soothed, but the act soon dropped. 'I detest crying.'

Sarah gulped air - mainly because she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry - and when she looked back - he was gone. Her head turned in the darkness, squinting against the bright light above her head as she tried to track him, to see what he was doing.

The recorder was still there, she hadn't heard him pick it up. She tested her bonds again but they were as strong as ever.

Goddamn it! Why her? Why? Because she had some sort of immunity to his toxin? Something she hadn't even been aware of until she'd walked into that pharmacy? Why hadn't she gone to one of the bigger ones? Why had she thought that because they were bigger, shinier, more full of people it would be more of a risk? At the time she thought she was supporting local small-time business and avoiding people with flu at the same time but now - now she wished she hadn't walked into that store yesterday morning - what time was it? How long had she been here?

There were so many questions that she knew Crane would be unlikely to answer. It was terrifying to think that he literally wanted to keep her in the dark - to keep her scared - for his own purposes. He had no toxin to rely on with her - no cheating way of terrifying his victim with their worst fears this time.

In the darkness of the room - she had no idea how big or small it actually was, she couldn't see anything past the bright light in her face - she heard a pen, scratching against paper. It paused as Crane mused 'Booth. Booth …. Any relation to John Wilkes-Booth, Sarah?'

The … the presidential murderer? She couldn't say she'd ever thought of it. 'I - I don't think so?' Her voice sounded high pitched and was sucked into the darkness.

'That is a shame.' Crane replied. 'The first man to spill a president's blood and his descendent - the heamophobic.' He made it sound like it was a joke - one he found particularly ironic.

She bit back a gasp as the light glinted off a needle and Crane appeared back in her line of sight. Not the needle - not the needle!

'Test one.' He spoke darkly and leaned down. Sarah tried to fight - despite being trapped in the bed. She was successfully avoiding his needle until Crane snarled and leaned up to wrap a hand around her neck. 'Don't fight me, patient zero.' He warned her. As those fingers applied pressure, her head felt like it was going to explode. Would he strangle her right here? She couldn't stop him if he intended to - she willed herself to relax and just accept what was coming. It was hard to do but didn't go unnoticed, Crane's hand removed itself from her throat. He looked marginally placated by her submission. She felt the pain of the needle as it slid into her arm.

'Why are you doing this?' She begged him.

'I thought it was fairly self-evident.' Crane replied boredly as he took a step back and picked up the notepad. 'Now - what do you see?'

Nothing. She saw nothing. Everything looked - well, it looked normal. She told him as much and that did not meet with approval. He sneered and scribbled something down.

The light suddenly went off, plunged her into darkness. Sarah would hate to admit it - but she was scared. Alone in the dark - alone in the dark with Crane. And then he started whistling. She could track his movements from one end of the room to the other, just by the eerie sound.

It stopped as suddenly as it had started.

'Are you afraid?' Crane whispered into her ear and cackled as she jumped in the restraints, the bed jolted. 'Go ahead, scream.'

She stammered 'S-Scarecrow-'

'You don't want to scream?' He chided from somewhere to her left. He sounded capriciously pleased. As though he'd expected this outcome - that she would feel nothing. 'That serum doesn't seem to have much effect on you, does it?'

Something landed heavily on her stomach and dripped, she could feel wetness as liquid trickled steadily from the weight.

The light came on and she stared at the decapitated head of a pig. It was bleeding. Soaking into her clothes. All that blood, soaking into her abdomen - on her skin.

She finally screamed - and Crane laughed.


End file.
